


Ordem e Progresso

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people will die for their flag. Others just die on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordem e Progresso

Honesty is the best policy, or so his father says. Nelson knows this is a lie, a platitude to make him feel better about the situation. Honesty isn't working out for him right now. Honesty has a sell-by date, or so it seems, and his honesty is a year too late.

Nelson curls his hands into fists, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He stares out of the apartment window at the rich gloss of Monaco and feels lost, a pretender, undeserving of his place here.

There's a knock at the door. He jumps, startled by the sound. Nelson crosses the room barefoot and peeps cautiously through the spy-hole before he clicks open the locks. He's tongue-tied, unable to offer even the smallest greeting to his visitor.

Nico steps inside. He carries a plastic bag twined around one wrist and wears pale grey jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. His gaze rakes Nelson full-length, a strafe of intensity before his expression softens. "How are you?"

Nelson lifts his hands and gestures helplessly. He gives ground, backing across the floor as Nico shuts the door and comes towards him. He's not sure he can handle company at the moment, but when he says this out loud, stumbling over his words, Nico chuckles. "Not even my company?"

There's a purr in his voice. Nelson swallows and sits on the arm of his couch. He worries he won't be able to give Nico what he wants. The idea of failing to please Nico seems much worse than his failure to please his father, Flavio, the FIA investigators, and the media. Nelson hangs his head, gathering his courage.

"What's worse?" He looks up at Nico, trying to read his watchful face, searching for clues to his thoughts. "Crashing the car, or informing the FIA of what happened?"

Nico is silent for a long while. "Crashing the car."

"Oh, God." Nelson feels the break of his emotions. He levers himself up from the couch, desperate to hide his reaction from Nico, but it's too late. He's already seen; he already knows. Nelson tries to cover his misery with anger. "Michael did it. Michael did it so many times. Deliberate crashes. He ran other drivers off the track. Ayrton did it. Prost did it. My father did it..."

Nico wraps an arm around him and pulls Nelson back against the warmth of his body. "They were all world champions. When you win, they forgive you anything. Memories are always longer when you have nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer."

Nelson struggles against this awful, unfair fact. "I have so much to offer!"

"Not to them." Nico whispers it, his breath a tickle against his ear. He doesn't mean to be cruel, Nelson knows that, but the truth hurts much more than a lie, and Nico's honesty is devastating.

He feels himself turned around, feels Nico's fingers on his jaw, the pressure gentle but insistent enough to make him lift his head. He flinches from Nico's gaze, but there's no judgement there.

"I know what you're capable of, Nels." Nico rakes a hand through Nelson's hair, the gesture strong and possessive. "I know."

Nelson shivers. The conversation has shifted, gone from one level to another, deeper meaning. His scalp stings at the sudden tightening of Nico's grip on his hair. A shudder touched with sparks of pleasure cuts up his spine, and a faint gasp escapes him.

"You didn't come here to comfort me." It's not even worth making the question rhetorical.

Nico tilts his head. His gaze is clear. "In a way, I did."

Guilt gnaws at him. Nelson closes his eyes for a moment. "I don't think I'm in the mood for that kind of comfort." He looks up, uncertainty twisting him in knots, and tries a smile. "Not even from you."

"That's why you need it. Why you need me." Nico sounds cool, detached, confident. "You need this all the more now. Believe me. Trust me."

Nelson breathes in and considers, then exhales his anxiety. He knew it would be this way the moment he let Nico inside the apartment. Already he feels the slow stir of desire. He nods as if the choice was still his to make, and he submits to the inevitable, to the man he knows will save him.

A flick of Nico's wrist brings the plastic bag swinging forward to demand Nelson's attention. He wonders what's inside it, but can't guess. He watches as Nico reaches in and draws out a soft-folded rectangle of heavy, colourful nylon.

Nelson's eyes widen. He recognises the shade of green and realises it's a flag. His breath catches as Nico lets go of one end and the flag rolls out to its full but still furled length. Nelson sees the flash of bright gold, a triangular point, and now he knows for sure it's a Brazilian flag.

He retreats from it. "Where did you get that?"

Nico snaps the rolled flag as if it were a whip. The action makes it unravel slightly, exposing more green and gold and the edge of dark blue. "Picked it up at Monza from one of the Forza Rubinho, Forza Felipe flag-seller booths."

"Why did you bring it here?" There's a quiver in his voice. Nelson averts his gaze from the flag, too ashamed to look at it. "My father says I dishonoured it. My flag. My country. The people who believed in me."

Nico slides the flag through his hands, twisting it as if it were a rope. "It's not dishonourable to tell the truth."

"Almost a year later? Please."

Nelson turns to walk away, but Nico is faster. He steps forward, sideways, and the length of the flag loops around Nelson's waist. Nico uses it to pull him close, the nylon pressing him forward. Nelson stumbles a little on the edge of the floor-rug and falls against him. Instinct makes him lift his head, and he kisses Nico.

He tastes of cold, of the sea air. The trace of Nico's stubble rasps against Nelson's face. They kiss without restraint, mouths open, tongues stabbing and darting, smearing words of lust with saliva, stealing breath. Nelson moans, dropping his hands to his jeans to adjust the angle of his cock. He can't resist – he brushes a palm over Nico's groin and shudders at the hardness there.

Nico wriggles against his hand, amused. There's the hint of a teasing note in his voice when he murmurs, "Are you going to do what I say?"

Nelson shivers. He can't stop it, arousal and anxiety jostling for control. Too many men have said those words to him: his father, Flavio, Pat, Fernando. He trusts Nico, but he should've been able to trust the others, too. They were supposed to look out for him, help him, guide him. Instead they mired him in this mess, and all that's left is anger and scorn.

He pulls away, feeling the strain of the heavy nylon against his ribs and back. Panic flares, but he tries not to show it. "Don't use the flag."

Nico flexes his hands, wrapping the ends of the flag around his wrists and pulling Nelson closer to him.

"Don't." Nelson can barely hear his own voice, his plea soft and whispered. Shame heats his face. He closes his eyes as another twist brings him right up against Nico. The flag seems to burn through his t-shirt, a brand across his lower back. Nelson groans and surrenders, swaying into another bruising kiss.

Before he can sink into the embrace, Nico nudges him away. "Take off your t-shirt," he orders.

Nelson's head buzzes. Excitement pounds through him. He leans back, letting the makeshift sling of the flag take his weight as he crosses his arms and hikes up the hem of his top. He smiles, his gaze flickering over the tension in Nico's arms as he holds the flag steady. Nelson teases, the t-shirt inching up over his belly to reveal the dark stripe of hair and the hollow of his navel.

Nico makes a soft noise of appreciation. Encouraged, Nelson eases the t-shirt higher. He lifts his arms to shoulder height and sucks in a breath, arching back into the flag. Nico hisses, his arms trembling now, and Nelson senses that the fulcrum is almost pushed too far. He drags the t-shirt over his head and casts it to the floor, then rocks forward to stand up straight.

For a moment, the flag drops. It brushes the back of his thighs, then Nico yanks on the ends and it creeps up Nelson's body. The nylon feels stiff and slightly scratchy where a seam digs into his flesh. When he tries to draw free, Nico pulls the flag tighter, forcing Nelson off-balance again. Nelson curls his hands against Nico's chest, feeling the heat of his body, the beat of his heart. There's nowhere to go, so Nelson sets his mouth on Nico's. It's not a kiss any more. They rest, breathing the same air, saliva still wet around their lips.

Nico dips his head and nuzzles at him. Nelson murmurs wordlessly, and the movement of his lips becomes a kiss, and another and then another until it builds again into passion. Nelson slides his arms around Nico's neck, bringing them closer. The flag pulls taut across his back then loosens as Nico breaks the kiss and takes one step backwards.

His eyes glitter, his skin suffused with the blush of arousal. He tugs at the flag, urging Nelson to move forwards. "On the couch," he says, and his voice is breathless.

Before Nelson can obey, Nico slips the flag from around his waist. The nylon whirrs, the friction prickle-sharp against his naked skin. Nelson puts a hand to his side, feeling the smart of the faint burn. He watches Nico unfurl more of the flag and drape it over the seat of the couch. Green field, gold lozenge, blue sphere, white strip, dark green lettering. Before he can take in the full impact of the sight, Nico seizes his hand and pushes him down on top of the flag.

Nelson sits. The flag slides across the couch, shifting his hips forward. Nico chuckles and sinks to his knees on the floor. He leans up and unfastens Nelson's button and zipper.

"What –"

Nico flashes him a smile as he drags off Nelson's jeans and underwear and throws them aside. "Hush. Enjoy it."

"But –" Nelson jerks forward, wanting to protest. He doesn't want to do this on top of his flag. He's naked and aroused and it's wrong. Dirty. Dishonourable. He forgets his complaint when Nico lowers himself, resting his forearms on Nelson's thighs.

"Open," Nico commands, tapping the inside of his thighs. "Wider."

Nelson spreads his legs as wide as they'll go, settling back into the squashy depths of the couch for balance. He stares down the length of his exposed body at Nico, who crouches with his blond hair dishevelled, his eyes dark with wicked desire.

"Watch," he says, and takes the tip of Nelson's cock into his mouth.

Nelson's breath is forced out. His body clenches. He watches as Nico works down his cock in increments, slow and steady. The wings of his hair tumble forward to brush across Nelson's belly, to catch in the black curls at his groin, to tickle at his thighs. Nico purrs, the vibration of sound sparkling around Nelson's spine.

He watches as Nico pulls back and lets him slip from his mouth with a wet bounce. Nico tilts his head and licks the length of his shaft, tongue-tip tracing the thick vein on the underside then lapping at the sensitive rim of the head. His hands press against the inside of Nelson's thighs, at first easing and then forcing his legs further apart until Nelson gasps at the ache.

He rolls his hips to relieve the pressure, tilting upward. Nico murmurs in delight and burrows between his thighs, nuzzling and sucking at his balls and making little sounds of contentment.

Nelson jumps, his hands clawing into the couch, crumpling the flag. He can smell himself now, the ripe odour of musk and sweat and sex mixed with the scent of Nico's hair and his cologne. His cock leaps against his belly, still wet from Nico's mouth, pre-cum dribbling sticky-sweet from the head to smudge across his skin.

Nico delves lower, his stubble scratching the fine, soft flesh of Nelson's inner thighs, until he can lash his tongue across the patch of bundled nerves between Nelson's balls and anus.

Nelson cries out, almost lifting clear of both the couch and the flag at the tease of exquisite sensation. The point of Nico's tongue sweeps deeper, probing into the cleft of his arse. He presses closer, his breathing harsh and hot against Nelson's wet flesh. The sounds they make together are dirty, sexy, shameful.

Nelson stretches back, trembling from head to toe as Nico circles his tongue over his arsehole. The angle makes it impossible for Nico to rim him properly, so each lick is a torment, a promise that can't be fulfilled. Nelson tightens up, drawing his legs back together when the muscles spasm. Nico lifts his head, his eyes slumberous and his hair tangled in his face, the wet ends sticking to his cheeks and dark blond strands in his mouth as he goes down on Nelson again.

The room seems small and airless. Nelson pants for breath. He grabs at Nico's hands, grasps at his hair, holding him down and using his mouth, fucking it with a frantic, brutal rhythm. He's aware of nothing but pleasure, nothing but the approach of orgasm, his climax building like the roll of distant thunder.

"Please," Nelson begs, hardly recognising his own voice. "Please."

Nico cups his balls, rubbing his thumb over the sac. His hand moves higher to circle the base of Nelson's cock. A moment later, Nico lifts his head and squeezes his thumb and forefinger tight.

"Don't come." The command is a growl. Nico's eyes are narrowed, his face flushed, his lips bruised and wet with saliva and pre-cum. He squeezes again. "Don't."

Nelson gasps, the pain ecstatic. His back arches and his hips rise, his body desperate for release. He struggles against Nico's grip. "I want to – I need to..."

" _Wait_."

The word is white-hot, the order as much a pleasurable agony as Nico's hold around his cock. Nelson whimpers, distracted beyond endurance. He experiences everything around him with hyper-reality: the colours of the room blur in a too-bright arc; Nico's hair gleams a dozen shades of gold; and below him, Nelson feels the weave of the nylon, the stitching on the flag, the hot itch of the fabric.

One-handed, Nico pulls the flag out from beneath him. He shoves it onto the rug and then very slightly loosens his grip around Nelson's cock.

"Get on the floor. Hands and knees."

The command is almost enough to make him come, but Nico gives him another little squeeze and his orgasm flinches back. Nelson wriggles off the couch. Nico lets go of him as he drops onto his hands and knees on top of the flag. The stitching of the gold lozenge digs into his knees. The nylon looks cheap and shiny in the sunlight.

At the sound of a zip drawn down, Nelson lifts his head to look over his shoulder. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of Nico behind him, cradling his cock in one hand while the other rests lightly on the curve of Nelson's arse.

Nico sees him staring and smiles. "What am I going to do to you now?"

Nelson can barely breathe. "Fuck me. You're going to fuck me."

"Yeah." Nico's tongue darts out; he licks his lower lip. "And you're going to hold back until I tell you to come."

He doesn't know if he can do that, so Nelson only nods his assent. His heart thumps faster, the faint dizzying whine in his ears obliterating the muddled thoughts and worries that circle like vultures through his head. He watches with avid, panting desperation as Nico digs out a foil packet from his jeans pocket and nips it open with his teeth. Nelson edges backwards, the flag sticking to his sweaty palms, the nylon crumpling and creasing. He doesn't care, wanting only the touch of Nico's hands, the power of his cock.

Nico rolls the condom over his erection, spits into his hand and rubs it onto Nelson's hole before stroking his palm along his cock. He guides himself in, eyes closing and his face blanking with pleasure.

Nelson looks at the floor, takes a breath and bears down, helping him slide deep. He arches, lifting his arse up and back to meet the stroke. A cry breaks from him, matching Nico's hiss of pleasure. It takes a few thrusts, an awkward back and forth, until they catch a beat that suits them both. They move together, shivering with pleasure, gasps and moans and incoherent words spurring them on.

His head buzzes, his breathing fractured and fast. To Nelson's mind it feels unbelievably wanton to be fucked like this, Nico still fully dressed while he's completely naked. His arms tremble, and Nelson forces himself to keep them straight. He doesn't want to collapse facedown onto the flag. He can't shame himself further, can't despoil his nation's pride.

With a shock of clarity, he realises the full savage beauty of Nico's plan. While he's perched over the Brazilian flag, Nelson can't come. To spill his seed over his flag would be more shameful than he could bear.

The knowledge eats at him, and frustration makes him growl. Nelson interrupts their rhythm, shoving back in an attempt to force Nico to bend to his will. Nico slaps his arse, a single, open-handed spank that makes Nelson lurch forward. He almost falls down onto his elbows but catches himself in time. Mewling with frantic desire, he submits to the pace of Nico's fucking, sinking into it and summoning back the echoes of orgasm, reaching for it again.

Nelson drops his head between his shoulders and gasps for breath. Sweat stings his eyes and dampens the hair hanging ragged around his face. Every muscle in his body is held tight, so tight he's trembling in reaction. His cock is so hard, so full and engorged, its head dark, the slit drooling shiny ribbons of pre-cum.

A twist of horror and humiliation lances through him. He stares, his breath catching, at the slow descent of pre-cum. Every thrust, every jerk of his hips, and the glimmering thread stretches and threatens to break. He whimpers, helpless to stop it. His vision blurs, refocuses. His gaze drops to the flag, to the symbol of his country's pride, symbol of his pride. Something tickles at the back of his mind, something not right about what he's seeing, but he ignores it. An anguished moan rips from him when he sees the dark stain upon the blue sky and the white strip with its dark green lettering _Ordem e Progresso_.

Nelson falls onto his forearms, shuddering. His face blazes with shame, his whole body afire. Tears gutter in his eyes. He shakes his head, his hair whipping his cheeks. The tears spill, warm and wet on his face. He sobs aloud, his misery coiling and mating with the rush of pleasure building at the base of his spine.

Nico leans over him, one arm hooked beneath him, the other stroking his back. "Stay with me," he hears Nico say, and he understands the shape of the words if not the actual meaning. "Stay with me."

Nelson surges back, needing Nico's heat. He feels Nico's hand on his cock, drawing out his shame, drawing out his climax. Everything else is spinning away, spiralling faster and faster out of control. His mind shuts down. Nelson grinds back onto Nico, his body jerking as he teeters on the brink; the wave gathering, cresting.

"Now," says Nico, and Nelson lets go. Orgasm sweeps through him, a relief so great he feels nothing, burned out, washed up, shattered by its power. Then comes the imprint of pleasure as awareness returns with the aftershocks. Ecstasy rolls through him anew, a brutal force that makes him lose his breath.

He's barely aware of Nico's orgasm, of the words of love and adoration poured over him. Nelson can barely stay upright. His toes curl, his hands crush into fists. His legs and arms go weak and his chest heaves. When Nico draws him over onto his side and spoons against him, Nelson is too dazed to resist.

They lie snuggled together, their skin stuck with sweat. Nelson feels Nico withdraw from him and mourns the loss with a tiny whimper of complaint. He gropes backward and catches one of Nico's hands, holding it tight. They remain there for a while until Nelson feels the edge of the flag biting into his flank.

When he can find words, he whispers, "Why did you make me do it on my flag?"

Nico lifts himself and kisses the curve of his neck. "Look at it."

Nelson blinks, reaching up to brush damp hair from his eyes. He takes a breath to steady himself before he looks at his flag. Green field, gold lozenge, the surface dented and crumpled by the weight of his hands and knees. Blue sphere, white strip, dark green lettering. The spatter of his spunk, gleaming soft and pearlescent upon the circle of the night sky.

The thing that nagged at the back of his mind suddenly crystallises. Nelson sits up, unable to believe what he's seeing. Behind him, Nico gives a satisfied chuckle, obviously pleased with his piece of deception.

Nelson looks at him over his shoulder. "This is –"

"Not a Brazilian flag," Nico confirms, raising his eyebrows. "It's almost a Brazilian flag, except for one small detail."

"The stars." Wondering, Nelson leans forward and touches his fingertips to the constellations of his seed. "It was missing the stars."

Nico curls close and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Not anymore."


End file.
